The Girl - VIII

...after The Final Question

An Epilogue to Chronicles of The Girl

She immersed her face in her palms on her knees and for just this while he knew she was more vulnerable than him…

The seething storm of emotions that she carried, imprisoned within the distracting stillness of her persona had soared to its pinnacle, as she fought herself with all the might she could summon. Apparently, the ferocity was too overwhelming to be restrained any more. It is in moments as these, where our deviously programmed brains find themselves grappling with unprecedented stimuli, for which they have never been customized to yield a rehearsed response, that the purest, most instinctive form of an individual is laid bare. It’s as if you’re The One seeing the Matrix, one bit at a time.

Within the revealing silence that loomed over, shrouding them from the rest of the world, she told more about herself than he could ever have known. When the siege finally receded, the tumultuous emotional commotion had given way to the illusory charm of a familiar smile. Standing before her, a silent beholder to the emotional revelation would be the closest that he would ever be to experiencing time dilation.

Words seemed to evaporate from her lips, leaving behind lonely phrases and useless syllables, painfully insufficient to bridge the gap between mind and tongue- incidentally, the story of his life. In a parallel universe, he would have sat next to her, holding a hand perhaps and in the comfort of silence let the march of time and warmth of touch calm her restless soul. In yet another, he might have dropped on his knees, searched deep into the decapitating infinity of her wonder struck eyes and told her something that she would never forget. In some other…

“I don’t know what to say…” she murmured, running her palms from across her lowered brow, all the way to the back of her head, her unsteady fingers rearranging all the lustrous locks on the way. Then she looked up, the daunting uncertainty writ large on her face over powered only by the hint of a wry smile bordering between innocence and playfulness. Those weren’t exactly the most inferential 6 words. In fact, they lay exactly half way between ‘Yes! You know…’ and ‘No maybe…’ But at least he had something to theorize.

“I can walk you to your hostel, we will never speak a word and keep wondering in awkward amazement and mournful wonder for the rest of our lives as to what went wrong that afternoon…” he suggested, looking deep into her eyes with an uncharacteristic fearlessness.

“Or we could move on…” he reasoned, “…forget about this, at least for a while, in which case we can go for a cup of coffee or something else…” That was not an instinctive response. Those were prepared words that he had chosen with immense caution and great care over a very long time.

They left that moment on the empty bench and walked into the sun. The gentle warmth of the December noon took some time to melt the ice and let all vital signs get back to normal. The walk to the local market was barely noticeable amidst a new realm of conversation and he realized women are the most genuinely curious species on the planet, or so it seemed.

Much to his delight, the gaping seats of the most undeservingly over-priced restaurant on campus longed for companionship. They occupied either sides of one of the lonely tables and a hot frothy round of coffee was served. Being with her there in that moment- with the realization that she knew, at least an abstract of it all- felt more reasonable than anything under the sun, especially those semester finals. It’s truly amusing how we can go about complicating life, blurting all kinds of stuff but not saying the things that we truly want to say.

The warm cup of coffee made steady rounds between the table and her lips, briefly interrupted by a few words. Those deep eyes, now like windows to her soul, seemed busy searching for an elusive something, way below her normal line of sight. She seemed far more composed now, perhaps humbled by the events of the day, but collected. And that was when he found her the most beautiful. Whatever comes their way, whatever happens, for him she will always be The Girl. And with anyone else, if and whenever, it will only be a partial derivative of what it has been with her- far simpler and with lesser power. With that thought, they left the place to its emptiness.

The slow walk on the shadowed road under the canopy of trees was serving a comforting climax to the eventful afternoon. It had turned out to be far more predictable than he had fancied, except for all the emotional turbulence.

“Hey”, she called out, “whatever happens… this doesn’t change”, as they reached her hostel entrance. The soft touch of her fingers in his palm during the generous hand-shake was a stark reminder of the current predicament. He took it as a consolation before seeing her off. With the semester break underway and the ever-extendable hiatus, it might be a long time before they’d see each other now, perhaps even forever. He knew, and had factored it into the scheme of things- maybe it was for the best. A lot had been said but so much still remained- only he knew.

He walked away, replaying and refreshing what could possibly be the last memories of the Girl.

PS: It took her two and a half months to conjure up a reason as to why they weren’t meant to be. It was right out of the opening pages of the first edition of “A Girl’s Handbook for Dumping Proposals”. He could see she was trying hard- her best- to make him feel better, walking besides him through the same shadowed streets where they had last met on that eventful afternoon, the same streets he had come to fancy over time that he’d walk by with the feel of her gentle fingers in his palm, until their long fading shadows would advise them to call it a day.

But perhaps, it was not meant to be. Who can ever know?

You can never make sense of such things in retrospect, joining the dots on their way back. It’s more instantaneous, momentary and subject to transient human whims and fancies. You can’t subject them to the cold judgment that you reserve for the rest of the world, for you don’t deserve a girl for being the hero of your own tale. Such things happen, just as easily as they don’t.

“We accept the love we think we deserve.”

Perhaps, she will always be there, or thereabout, standing between him and anyone he wants to feel for, or against the balance of probability- anyone who feels for him.

BUT most importantly, she will also be a stern reminder of how for just once in his entire life, subliminally, he had allowed himself to be so vulnerable for someone. That may be the only way you can truly experience that treacherous emotion called love, but every hour, every minute and every moment of those months spent playing that day in his head over and over again, will shout and rebuke him for never letting that happen ever again for the remainder of his life.

There are two kinds of people in this world- the loved ones and the ones who tried a little too hard…